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“No.” Damn it. I sat up, pressing a hand to his muscled shoulder. He had a cluster of freckles there I’d never noticed before. “I didn’t mean … I don’t mean we should stop being together.”
He turned his head, silently and moodily asking me to elaborate.
“Maybe … as phenomenal as it was, maybe we shouldn’t have jumped into the physical stuff so quickly.”
“Do you think I’m going to hurt you?”
At his deep scowl, I pressed a tender kiss to his shoulder. “No.” Resting my chin there, I stroked his hair with my fingers. “It’s just … this is a big step for us and maybe we should take it one day at a time. There’s so much going on as well. Outside factors, I mean.”
Forde considered this for a few seconds and then nodded. “All right.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No. I get it.” He took my other hand and pressed a kiss to the top of it. “I better get to work.”
Even though I knew Forde would never lie about how he was feeling, I couldn’t help the wee knot of anxiety I felt as he slipped out of my bed. Last night was incredible, and I didn’t want to ruin that between us before we’d even begun.
“I left my stuff downstairs.”
“I’ll come with you.” I quickly grabbed my silk dressing gown off the handle of my wardrobe and followed Forde out.
His arse muscles flexed as he walked downstairs, and I started to regret my decision to take it slow. The tattoos on his back and neck were absolute artwork. There were things that reflected Scotland (Celtic art, sketches of a stag, a whisky tumbler) and also his love for machinery and mechanics, all interspersed with nature.
I suddenly remembered the tattoo on his chest. “You never told me what the new tattoo means.”
Forde reached the living room first and grabbed his jeans and underwear where he’d abandoned them last night. “I probably shouldn’t if we’re taking things slow.”
He couldn’t have said anything else that would prick my curiosity more. “Oh, now you have to tell me.”
Instead, he bit out a curse as he checked his phone.
“What?”
Forde lifted his head to me. “Quinn texted. He says we need to talk. Wanna bet someone told him about me kissing you at the Lantern last night?”
Uneasiness coursed through me and I braced for coming disappointment.
He seemed to read my mind as he shoved his legs into his underwear first. “I don’t want to fuck up things between me and your brother, but if he makes me choose, you have to know I’ll choose you.”
I gaped, stunned.
Forde quirked a brow. “You didn’t know that?”
“I … honestly, I’ve always wondered if part of the reason you didn’t make another move on me is because you didn’t want to ruin your friendship with Quinn. I think a lot of people believe that.”
“Then they’re wrong.” He glowered ferociously. “It was never about that. Quinn is my family … but you’re … well …” He winced.
“I’m what?”
“You … you said you want to take it slow, so I don’t think I can say it.”
Irritated, I gestured impatiently. “Just say it.”
“You’re everything,” he retorted almost angrily. “You’re everything to me. The tattoo …” He pointed to it. The reason it had caught my eye was because it was kind of feminine compared to the rest of his tattoos. It looked like a vine of flowers wrapped around letters, but it was so subtle you had to look close to realize letters were hidden in there. “That’s the name Camshron intertwined in carnation camerons. Camshron is—”
“Gaelic for Cameron,” I whispered, tears stinging my eyes as understanding glued my attention to the tattoo.
I was overwhelmed.
